WeissKreuz Fairytale Picnic
by LoveyouHateyou
Summary: A hot, sultry Saturday afternoon, some spare time, an impulse... Aya, Yohji, Ken, and Omi. Weiss on the beach for picnic, and a fairy tale is told... will it have a happy ending?


**_WeissKreuz - Fairytale Picnic M / NC-15  
_**  
**Fandom: **WeissKreuz  
**Rating: M **for references to male male affection and intimacies  
**Warnings:** see rating, also some mild swearing  
**Pairs: **Yohji and Aya, Ken and Omi  
**Summary:** A hot, sultry Saturday afternoon, some spare time, an impulse... Aya, Yohji, Ken, and Omi. Weiss on the beach for picnic, and a fairy tale is told... will it have a happy ending?

xxx

"Picnic?" Ken laughed, then went to pack his soccer ball.

Aya, busy trimming a bunch of roses in the backroom, just shrugged.

Omi smiled widely. "Oh, what a great idea, Yohji-kun."

"You have to thank Schuldig for that one," said Yohji, watching Aya tense and forcibly relax again.

"Oh?" Omi closed the till, empty now that the day's takings had been banked.

"The idiot brought it up. Beach picnic."

"I'm sure he had an agenda," Ken chipped in. He had the ball stowed in a rucksack. "So what? Let's get going."

An early Saturday afternoon, blue skies – they had left the city by train – and an almost empty beach. Yohji did not tell them that Schuldig had not just mentioned any old beach, but had dragged him here, and that's how he knew the place, with a rest area just off the freeway, and the railway station just a couple of miles away. They had walked from there – Ken ahead, kicking the rucksack that he carried dangling from his outstretched arm; Yohji and Omi trailing after him, chatting and laughing; Aya bringing up the rear with an air of watchful indifference.

The diner sold dismal instant coffee and rather good green tea, the sort madeas a cold infusion, with a lovely smokey flavour that Yohji used to detract from his urge to have a fag. He had already emptied one packet that day, and the chibi had badgered him into promising to cut down... however pointless that might be - Yohji did not have the heart to tell him. Ken was spinning the ball on agile fingers while picking some watery ice cream on a stick, plus chocolate pocky, and Aya bought the only broadsheet paper they had.

They settled just outside the reach of all those soft small waves that licked over the golden-grey beach, and not too far from the grubby little diner, just in case they got peckish again, or Aya thought it over and wanted food after all.Their spot offered soft sand, grainy and baking hot from the summer afternoon sun, and the caress of a cooling breeze from the sea, heavy with the aroma of salt and seaweed.

Pockyinmouth, Ken took off with his ball, charging around happily, barefoot – how could he kick the ball about like that? wondered Yohji, and Omi smiled and shrugged, a spark of admiration in his blue eyes as he watched Ken for some time. Aya settled crosslegged and stiff-backed in the sand, at a small distance from them, and unfolded the paper. Yohji could do nothing – what with balancing Ken's ice cream that was melting, and the paper cup with cold tea – when the chibi just plopped back, folded his arms behind his head, and used Yohji's jeans-clad lap for a pillow.

The boy seemed a tad sleepy and almost fooled Yohji, had it not been for the glint of blue from beneath long, dark lashes and the barely-there smile that played on his lips. "Yohji-kun?"

"Anything, chibi," said Yohji, setting down the cup and grinding it into the sand so it didn't topple over. He was in a relaxed mood, sweaty from the heat, and a little tired from walking. How Ken could run around as he did, and not melt into a puddle? Or Aya, for that matter, brooding over the newspaper as if the world had sunk away around him…

"Anything?" A droplet of off-white ice cream dripped onto Omi's cheek. He wiped it off lazily with one thin finger and licked it off.

Oh. Yohji slapped himself, and Omi laughed. "Hey, don't worry, I'm not gonna abuse the moment… or should I?"

Yohji ruffled Omi's hair. "No." He lit a cigarette from the crumpled packet he had found in the backpocket of his jeans. Omi frowned. Yohji pretended not to see.

"Yohji-kun!"

"Omitchi… please? I need that now, really. It's your fault, by the way."

Omi shook his head. Did he grind a bit against Yohji's middle? "Hey," said Yohji, kindly, but firmly.

Omi sighed and stilled. "'Kay then. Tell me a tale. Just something."

Yohji smoked, listened to the gentle breathing of the calm blue sea, the whisper of shifting sand and Ken's scampering about. The quiet rustling of the paper disturbed his attempt at contemplation. "Ayan?"

"Hm."

"You like fairytales?"

"No."

Surprise.

"Wouldn't you know any? About kitsunes and nekos, that kinda stuff?" Yohji prodded, distracted by Omi's small hand that clutched at the hem of his shirt. The chibi was shaking slightly, an expression on his face that veered alarmingly between pain and laughter.

"No."

"'Cmon, Ayan, you must know some?"

"Can I read my paper in peace?"

"It's not like you could see anything with those shades on, Ayan. I know 'cos they're mine." Yohji sighed, glanced down at Omi, and shrugged. They shared a little grin, before Yohji cleared his throat. "'Kay then. I'm not that good at it, but I'll try, if you help me. Deal?"

"Deal," Omi confirmed, voice thick with barely suppressed mirth.

Aya had been the only one of them to slick on sunscreen, and he had appropriated a pair of Yohji's blackest sunglasses. He pushed the shades up into his mop of lurid red hair, shot a glare over the edge of his paper, turned a page with much rustling, and buried his nose in the broadsheet again.

He looked good in his clingy black tee and way too hot, tight blue jeans – washed out and threadbare things that left nothing to the imagination. Along with ratty, formerly white trainers and his crimson hair, he cut a striking figure, thought Yohji, eyeing him unashamedly now that he did not look.

"Oi," said Omi, brushing some sand off his loose sky-blue bermudas and white, wildly printed polo shirt. He wore screaming pink beach sandals, a necklet of wooden beads, and pink, heart shaped shades, and did not seem to give a toss just how that came across.

Cute, Ken had commented, with a smile and a longing glance when Omi had skipped down the stairs after getting ready. Omi had snogged him. Ken looked great himself, all bronzed muscle, coffee-brown eyes and glossy dark hair; understated – Yohji thought – in his usual muted blue socker attire and bare feet in trainers.

Yohji had toned down. Sloppy blue jeans, loose green shirt, scratched silver plastic shades, cuffed, formerly brown sandals. He was not in the mood to attract attention. He was content to be like that, on the beach, in the sun, with a blue sky above and the sea stretching beyond the horizon, time and worries forgotten, carried away with the breeze.

"Hope we don't get hit," said Omi, waving an arm vaguely at the seagulls that kept circling above the diner, only to dive down now and then and fight with noisy shrieks over discards and rubbish.

"Oh well, a splash of shit here or there…"

"Yohji. The story?" Omi reminded him sternly, before Yohji could drift off into darker musings again.

With an almost audible snap, Yohji skidded back into the present. "Righty. It's supposed to bring luck, anyway... so you gonna help, chibi?"

"Yep." Omi reached up to take the ice cream off him, and began to lick it.

Yohji smiled a little. "Here goes, then. Once, in a land far away, there lived a lil' prince."

"Oh." Omi smiled, his eyes sliding shut, and his fingers gently caressing Yohji's belly beneath the hem of his shirt.

Yohji squirmed and sucked his stomach in, but tried to concentrate on his tale. "The little prince was beautiful, and happy, and honourable... ack, chibi... eat that ice cream already, will you?"

Omi swallowed the last sweet, melting mouthful, tossed the stick into the sand, and turned his head a little, so that his nose touched Yohji where leg joined rump. With his free hand, he began to trace patterns into the soft sand, his small wrist rubbing over Yohji's thigh. "Tasty..."

"He was rich, too," Yohji went on smoothly, not quite laughing, "and lived with his parents and his sister in a great lovely palace, with great, pretty gardens all around it."

"Hmmm," mumbled Omi, a soft hum against Yohji's flesh.

Yohji took a drag of his tea that had gone lukewarm, and shot a glance at Aya. He could have sworn Aya's gaze had just flitted away, to hide behind his paper again, but one could never be sure, of course… "All sorts of flowers grew in those gardens. The little prince loved them all, but most of all, he loved a rose. A very special rose. It was pure white, like snow, and without a single thorn."

"That's a strange rose," said Omi, his hand on Yohji's belly slipping to trail over the waistband of his jeans and hitch at the button fly, fingerpads ghosting over the dusting of dark blond that ran from Yohji's navel down to his groin.

"Tickles," Yohji remarked, sounding a tad cool now. Omi's hand slid away from the fly and resumed the earlier caress.

Ken scampered up to them, tousled and buzzed, and dumped the ball, then himself into the sand, trying to catch his breath. His skin was shining with sweat and powdered with sand. "Going for a dip," he panted, "anyone?"

Yohji shook his head, pointing at his cigarette that was almost finished; Aya did not stir; Omi turned his head to smile at Ken… who glanced at him with the tiniest flicker of something in his eyes, an unspoken question perhaps, but then he smiled back. "Well, I'm on my own then. Jeesh, you're one lazy bunch… you ate my ice cream? You taste like... vanilla." A wink and a slobbery kiss for Omi, and off he was, splashing into the glassy green waves, and before long swimming further out with long, powerful strokes, his dark head bobbing over the shimmering blue-green water. Omi shifted and wriggled a little, until he had arranged himself in a position that mirrored exactly his previous one, so that he could keep watching Ken and at the same time touch Yohji.

"He's right, yanno," said Yohji, propping himself up on one elbow and letting his head loll back so that the smoke did not drift into Omi's face.

Omi blushed wildly. "What? I'm not sure..."

Yohji snorted. "Man, chibi, and I thought my mind lives in the gutter... not the vanilla stuff. We're unfit, at least you 'n me, and maybe only when compared to our two die-hards here, but... perhaps you should go swimming too? I bet the water's nice 'n warm; sun's been blistering down for days. We can always carry on later with our fairytale."

"I can go swimming later," Omi rejoinded softly.

Yohji sighed. "Right. As always. That's annoying, sometimes, you know that? So… ah, the rose. Yes, it was an unusual rose, that's why the little prince was in love with it."

"In love?"

"Because it was so innocent, without falseness or sin, and without defence. The ideal love for him, because it was so pure, and it needed his protection."

"And then?"

Yohji took one last drag at his cigarette, regarded the stub with a regretful glance, and buried it in the sand. "Then… one day, the father of the prince had a visit from a colleague. That king was not nice, but full of shit. He wanted to take part of the kingdom, and the rose, and the princess, but the old king would have none of it. So the neighbour decided he'd take them anyway."

Omi remained silent this time. Aya shifted stiffly and turned another page. Ken was way out in the glimmering sea. Yohji lit another cigarette.

"The two old men fought, and the neighbour won 'cos he had a few dirty tricks up his filthy sleeve. He cut down the rose, and he nearly cut down the princess. She fell into a deep, deathlike sleep…"

"Yohji?" Omi looked up at him. Yohji looked away, at the sea, the horizon that began to take on a golden hue, and the rising haze in the far distance. The breeze had grown a tad cooler, the shadows a little longer. The diner's blinds rattled shut.

"Hm." A puff of smoke, a few crumbs of ash drifting down the front of Yohji's shirt. He brushed at it distractedly, shook back his hair, adjusted his glasses. "Yes, so… look, chibi, I'm not good at this, 'kay?"

"You're doing just fine, Yohji-kun."

Yohji sighed. It sounded uneasy, even though he kept smiling, in a rather absentminded way. "They never end well, those tales, now do they?"

"What happened to the rose?" Aya's deep, measured voice made them jump. A short, oddly tense silence, then Yohji blew a long stream of smoke through his nostrils.

"It… where its petals fell, all those lovely, silky white petals, new roses grew. They formed a wall, a hedge around the bed of the little princess that lay sleeping in her innocence. And the little prince… being the good boy he was, he swore he'd avenge his poor parents, even if he had to sell his soul to the devil for it, for he thought that he could save his sister by completing his revenge." He paused. Omi resumed his caress that now had a soothing quality, and Aya apparently kept reading, his posture unchanged, entrenched behind the paper.

Yohji laced his fingers through Omi's hair. Ken had turned and was swimming back in a wide arch, a tiny speck of black on the glittering road of blushing gold the sun cast over the waves, from the horizon to the beach. "Okay then… the devil who had bought the soul of the little prince sent him to complete many tasks, all of them to help his revenge. The boy had to slay many beasts of darkness, creatures of the night, and other nasties. He encountered black magic and white magic, and he learned to lie and deceive. He was good at killing, too. And every day the hedge just grew higher, and denser. Those new roses had thorns, and the hedge would only part for the little prince and no one else. So he shared his time between killing and visiting his little sister, peaceful in her bed. And one day, a year after he had killed his first beast, the hedge had new flower buds, and the little prince was full of joy because, surely, those new blooms would mean that something was about to change. But when they finally unfurled, they were not white, but deep red, the colour of blood. And the little prince realised that he was caught – the devil had outsmarted him, for if the little princess would wake up and see the roses so changed, she would find out what the prince had done, and perhaps would love her brother no longer."

"But," said Omi, trailing a slow circle around Yohji's navel, "he did it for her, right?"

"Yes. And he had no choice, really. He didn't know any better, and later, he could not see anymore beyond the hedge and the thorns..."

"So…"

"He should cut down that hedge," Yohji said quietly, "don't you think? So he can see again..."

xxx

"One night, he was caught by a band of thieves," Yohji went on after lying back in the still-warm sand. Ken had joined them, his skin gleaming with drying saltwater that left pale patches on his bronzed hide. Panting a little, he plopped down onto his stomach, his flank touching Omi's drawn-up knees, his elbow digging lightly into Yohji's side. He exuded freshness and energy, even with his head buried in his folded arms.

With his fingers, Omi gently combed through Ken's salt-sticky brown hair. "What then?"

Yohji made a vague, sweeping gesture with his hand. "He got hurt, and the thieves took him along. When he woke up, they told him he had to become one of them, or die. So again, he had no choice. He still hoped to save his sister, and he had to live to do that. But one of the thieves was also a fairy." (1)

Ken clucked. Omi smiled.

"A what?" Aya growled from behind his paper. He had arrived on the last-but-one page, containing personals, sudoku games, and offer-of-the-week ads.

"A fairy," repeated Yohji, deadpan. "Yanno, with wand 'n all?"

"Gods, Yotan," groaned Ken, fairly shaking with suppressed laughter now.

"Wand?" said Aya, sounding off.

"Magic wand," said Yohji, "to wave away almost all hurts and squ...wash away evil."

Icy silence from behind the paper wall. Omi squirmed, biting his lips to shut in any sound. Just in case. Ken snuck his hand between Omi's knees and pressed sand-dusted fingers into soft white flesh that showed the first flush of a hefty sunburn.

"Ouch," said Omi, pulling a grimace.

"Shit," said Yohji, examining the damage. "Didn't think of that… shouldn't we go?"

"I'll slosh... uh, squirt on some after-sun lotion," Omi hurried to soothe him, "Ken could rub it in?"

"No prob," came the cheerful assent. "So, Yotan, what about that fairy?"

"Uhm…"

Aya folded the paper neatly in half, then again, then rolled it into a neat, tight tube that he tapped into his flat left hand. He nailed Yohji with a stare. "We're listening."

Yohji dragged the back of his hand over his mouth, yelped as he got singed by the glowing tip of the cigarette, and cursed under his breath as it dropped onto his shoulder and then into the sand. He fished for it, retrieved it, and took a few quick, deep lungfuls.

To find three pairs of eyes scrutinising him when he dared to look up again. Aya's face inscrutable, his gaze flat; Ken's eyes laughing, Omi's expression one of wicked innocence…

_How's that,_ Yohji mused fretfully, _how can he combine that?_

"I'll tell you," said Aya, and they all drew a quick breath, not sure whether to brace themselves, and for what… "That… fairy…"

Yohji found he had trouble breathing. Ken choked on a few grains of sand and began to cough. Omi gathered him up and patted his back, while still nestled comfortably against Yohji, who could not run away as he wanted to do just then because that would have meant to shake the chibis off and have them tumbling all over one another in the soft warm sand, and Aya would surely disapprove voraciously of such a thing because he considered them way too young for this...

"…decided it wanted to help the little prince." Aya tugged at his tee, to smoothe it out primly, before settling both hands in his lap, the newspaper roll sticking up in the middle.

Yohji's eyes grew round. Was that the tiniest trace of a very underhanded smile playing over Aya's thin lips? Or would this be a sneer in the making? That roll… coincidence, of course, entirely innocent.

"But it found-"

"It?" Yohji cut in, sounding bruised.

Aya was unimpressed. "Do you want help with your tale? Right. So, when _it_ snuck up to him to find out his secrets, it realised that the prince turned into one of those ugly, thorny, bloody roses at night. So the thief-fairy got caught, too, in those thorns, and was scratched and hurt."

"Pierced," Yohji ground out before he could control his runaway tongue, "right through the heart."

"Because he was an idiot," blurted Aya, with sudden emphasis, and leaned forward a little. His eyes darkened behind the purple contacts, reproach and anger and latent heat boiling to rhe surface, swirling shadows and fire beneath the frosted glaze.

"Yeah," agreed Yohji hoarsely. "But that idiot found he liked that prick of a rose. Because it was a pretty prick. Fierce and nasty, true, but the fairy, being a fairy, sensed his secret. That the rose had been white, once, and it was still a rose."

"Bullshit," snapped Aya.

"And the wand worked a treat, whether the lil' prick liked it or not," Yohji went on, a tad more heatedly.

"Like hell it did," Aya bit out.

"Yeah. Even with the lil' goblins that were the other thieves," Yohji shot back. _Not to mention Rumpelstielzchen._ (2)

"Oi," said Ken.

"Hey," said Omi, but he smiled and leaned over to steal a kiss on Ken's ear.

Ken swatted at him. "Ack… no tickling, Omitchi…"

Aya blanched, then flushed. "Goblins?" He bit his lips and shook his bangs over his eyes... to hide what? Was he laughing, too?

Too much to hope for... "It's getting cool," said Yohji into the tense little pause, and yawnedat the setting sun.

"There's still time to catch the last train," said Ken, "we don't wanna miss that one, or what? I don't fancy running all the way back to the city."

"We could spend the night here," suggested Omi, his tone somewhere between hopeful and resigned.

Yohji smoothed out Omi's rumpled blond bangs. "Nah, chibi, 's getting chilly, and we got nothing here to cover up."

"There's a stack of canvas sheets over by the diner," said Aya, "the stuff they use for beach pavillions."

A surprised silence followed his calmly spoken words, and the sea seemed very close and very strong one of a sudden. The sun had sunk behind the horizon, and the last gleam of copper faded on the rapidly greying water that rolled in long, leaden waves against the cooling beach, the aroma of salt and seaweed growing heavier.

The traffic on the freeway had picked up with the evening rush hour, and the first beams of headlights fingered into the deepening dusk, sliding past, back and forth between the orange glow of the city and the dark distance.

"Well?" prodded Aya, tone haughty and impatient.

"Huh?" said Yohji, not sure whether to believe this, the thought of Schuldig sparking through his mind – he had been here with the firehead, and who was to say Schuldig would not pick this night to turn up and create a mess – but Aya stared straight at him, and he swallowed his worry. They had nothing to fear, not now, together, on a lonely beach far from the city and everything real.

Because this was not real.  
Fairytales were just that. Tales. A touch of wishful thinking...

"I guess…" Ken mumbled, rolling onto his side and reaching out for Omi.

Who slid between him and Yohji and snuck an arm around Ken's waist. "As you wish, Aya-kun."

And before Aya could think it over, Yohji got up, knocking the sand off his clothes, and made for the diner and the stack of canvas. He had almost reached the place when he heard light panting and the grinding of quick steps on sand behind him. He yanked the plastic foil aside that covered the pile of tent sheets, and began to pull out one of them, when Aya grabbed the other end and tugged sharply. "They shouldn't be doing that," he hissed.

_Predictable,_ thought Yohji, and bit his lip. "Gimme that… Ayan, give me the damn sheet. What did you think they'd do, all night on a beach like this?"

Aya tugged harder. "We go home," he said. "And I'll show you some wand."

"Oh?"

"Don't play daft, Yohji, I know you."

"Really." Yohji held on and began to twist and bunch the sheet to gather it to his stomach.

"Let go. We won't need it, after all."

"Yes, we will," said Yohji sweetly, "we have a tale to tell the children, so they can go to sleep."

"Your tales just make them restless... with nightmares."

"They seemed to be enjoying themselves."

"They shouldn't. Dirty tales like that…"

"Dirty?" Yohji yanked at the sheet, Aya plopped against his chest, Yohji dropped the bundle of canvas and grabbed Aya instead, who shoved against him…not too harshly, Yohji found, suppressing a groan of relief. Apparently, Aya had been distracted from the warpath, and led successfully onto a little detour...

"Hai. Filthy, smutty…"

See how far that detour would lead... Yohji ducked his head and bit Aya's ear. "Nasty… lil' prick…"

"You!"

"No, you…"

"…fucking... ah... fairy…" Aya began to breathe harder as Yohji stabbed his ear with his tongue.

"Yep, exactly. You taste bitter."

"Then…" Aya broke off to crane his neck. In the thickening darkness, it became difficult to make out forms, and the chibis were a couple of… no, one shadow, a deep blue blotch on the blue-grey beach, and beyond the shifting, silvery margin lay the faintly fluorescing mirror of the calm sea… "What…"

Soft laughter floated across on the gentle night wind. On the freeway, the distant rush of cars, tyres on overheated tarmac, the smell of exhaust fumes.

"Ayan," said Yohji, raking his fingers through Aya's wiry bangs, "they fuck. Same thing we do. Dick up ass, yanno? Or getting sucked-"

Aya struggled against Yohji's embrace; Yohji's grip tightened a little, just enough to stay, not enough to cage… "Wanna try the thing with the wand, hm?" Another soft bite to Aya's ear. "See whether it works?"

"Didn't so far," Aya ground out, but he let Yohji hold him. Nudged a knee between Yohji's legs. Groped behind him for the sheets and dragged down another one. "They shouldn't…"

"What?" Yohji slid his hands over Aya's back, down to the waistband of his jeans, barely dipping in before rising again, up his flanks, over his shoulderblades, to his neck, cupping his cheeks, combing through his hair, and down, shoulders, a brush of thumb pads to his jaw, and on over shoulders and arms to small, hard hands, curled loosely into fists. "What should they not? Go and kill at night? Smoke 'n drink? Fry away their brains every so often with acid or whatever, so they can forget for a while?"

The tension melted from Aya's limbs one of a sudden, and he went limp against Yohji, who caught him. Kissed him, on the top of his crimson head, then his brow, his closing eyelids, his cheeks. "You taste… of salt," he murmured, hugging Aya closer still, holding him firmer. He leaned back against the pile of folded sheets, and for a while, he and Aya stayed like that, locked each in his own silence.

It got cooler, the air growing dank and chill. From the darkness came a shadow. Ken, flapping his arms. "Hey, the chibi's freezing. Where are those sheets? Ah." He picked up the one from the ground, turned, then checked his steps and glanced back at them over his shoulder. "You alright?"

"Hai," said Aya, and Yohji waved at Ken.

"'Sokay, Kenken."

"Omi wanted the end of that tale."

"He will catch a cold," Aya pointed out.

"Gotta dream it up first," said Yohji, a smile in his voice. "Tomorrow, perhaps. After breakfast?"

"Sure. I better run along then," said Ken peacefully and went, the night swallowing his shape and the sound of his steps.

A night without missions. Without waiting for anyone to turn up and toss them into darkness because a different kind of darkness held them, here on this lone beach. A soothing darkness, free of horror and guilt.

"Do you really have no end for your tale?" wondered Aya, his voice vibrating quietly against Yohji's neck.

Yohji groped for his cigarettes. He managed to light up singlehandedly, the little flame of the lighter casting a flickering shine over his features, before it went out. Leaving Aya with the impression of Yohji's golden face, shimmering eyes, soft lips curled in a smile that had a weary edge…

Yohji took a long pull, the tip of the cigarette brightening, a reddish glow that highlighted his lips, before dimming to a dull red as he exhaled a long, smoky breath. "Perhaps we should try to catch some sleep?"

Aya twisted from his embrace and dragged anothersheet from the stack. A thud, followed by the swish and rustle of heavy fabric, and a few heartbeats later, Yohji felt Aya tugging at his belt, pulling him down. Cautiously, he knelt, then lay down by Aya's side, touching, feeling his outstretched form in the darkness that was of a bottomless black in the flimsly shelter of the shed.

He started when his hands slid over bare skin. Cool, hot, shivering, dry…

"Don't burn holes into me," came Aya's soft rasp, oddly disembodied. "Though you could use your… wand…" An undercurrent in his tone that in someone else might have translated into laughter…

Yohji tossed the cigarette aside. For a little while, it kept glowing weakly in the sand, a few feet away, fanned by the breeze, until it faded and disappeared, washed away by darkness. Yohji leaned over where he could feel Aya's body, and ran his hands… over smooth flesh, firm nipples, a raised knee… "Jesus, Aya," he gasped as his touch found Aya's damp, warm, firm middle.

Aya wrapped one arm around Yohji's neck and dragged him into a kiss. "Your wand, fairy," he growled. "Use it."

xxx

Cold and rumpled, Yohji crouched at the kitchen table at the Koneko, a mug of steaming tea between his hands, a couple of aspirin on a plate before him, amid a few crumbs of rice and a half-eaten slice of toast. He keept sneezing, and Omi – washing their breakfast dishes – slanted him concerned glances. Thus distracted, the chibi had already broken a mug and a bowl, and Ken had complained, but swept up the shards anyway.

Aya had taken a shower after their return from the beach, and now was in bed, reading, as he said. He had been quiet, inscrutable, but with an air of contentment as rare as it was unmistakable.

Omi was lobster red where the sun had hit him, his already peeling burn contrasted by the whiteness of his skin where the tee and pants had protected him. Ken had slathered enough after-sun lotion on him to slicken him up from top to toe. They had done that in the bathroom and taken rather long, with Ken emerging flushed and tousled, and Omi tired and yawning widely, a sated smile in his eyes...

He felt faintly nauseous though, and concerned about Yohji, and he longed to go to bed and sleep through into the evening, but... he could not hold out any longer. Ken was back at the shop to water the plants, Yohji did not look as if he would be able to run anywhere fast. "So what about the ending, then?" Omi nudged him.

Yohji played dumb. "Ending?"

Omi folded his arms, dishcloth hanging from one side. "'Cmon, Yohji-kun."

Yohji sighed. "I'm defenceless, and you're abusing it."

"I wish," countered Omi slyly.

"Ay, chibi," groaned Yohji.

"The wand. I was on about the wand," Omi pointed out, blue eyes wide and innocent, his mouth twitching in a smile that was anything but.

Yohji buried his head in his hands. "Gawd, what have I done…"

From the shop, they could hear Ken whistling along happily to a silly pop tune on the radio.

Omi's expression dissolved into a look of compassion. "You're not even smoking. Was it that bad?"

Yohji shivered. "Cold. It got so damn cold in the morning."

"You're feverish. Take those tablets, will you? That mist was awful."

"Yeah. Creeping right into my ol' bones." Yohji swallowed the aspirin, washing them down with tea. He hung his head and traced patterns in a tea puddle on the table.

A small pause, then…

"Just spill it." Omi was smiling sweetly when Yohji chanced a quick glance through his splayed fingers.

Yohji gave up. "I did."

Aya, on his way to the kitchen to fetch some more tea for himself, paused in the corridor, his hand about to alight on the door knob of the kitchen door. The door stood slightly ajar, and he could see Yohji and the chibi through the gap and hear their quiet voices.

Omi dragged a chair close to the blond, sat down, and wrapped one arm around his shoulders. He rested his head in the crook of Yohji's neck, and Yohji let him. "Did the fairy get stung by the prick…ly rose?"

"Hmph."

Omi pondered, playing with Yohji's mussed locks. "So the fairy waved his wand…"

"A lot," mumbled Yohji.

xxx

"And everything was fine," Aya murmured, a faint smile playing on his face. _For a while, at least._

He frowned as Yohji sneezed. At that rate, they would all catch it.  
Fairytales… Aya huffed. Perhaps it wasn't fine, after all.

He scrubbed at his ticklish nose.  
Catch... yes, there just had to be one...

xxx

The End

Note:  
(1) Fairy - slang for effeminate gay man; Yohji taking himself for a ride here  
(2) Rumpelstielzchen - a leprechaun-like figure in one of Grimm's fairytales; has the Midas touch and can spin straw to gold; with red hair, he reminds Yohji of Schuldig.


End file.
